


Kiss the Cook

by autisticstanuris (ephemeralprince)



Category: IT (2017), IT - Stephen King
Genre: Christmas, Domestic Fluff, Implied/Referenced Homophobia, M/M, i promise the story's all good but you know how the holidays are for both of those issues, implied child neglect
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-26
Updated: 2017-12-26
Packaged: 2019-02-22 05:30:00
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,646
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13160265
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ephemeralprince/pseuds/autisticstanuris
Summary: It's Eddie and Richie's first Christmas together as a couple, and Richie is determined to make the date memorable, no matter what Sonia Kaspbrak says.





	Kiss the Cook

**Author's Note:**

> This was my Secret Santa gift this year for @immersiveillusions!! Happy Holidays to all the Reddie shippers out there; this fandom needs more fluff. ♡

“Look man, all I’m saying is it’s the twenty-third of December and I highly fucking doubt you have anything else on your itinerary. So drop by after five and we can hang out, alright?”

There was hardly time for Eddie to proffer a response before Richie’s voice cut and the line went dead. He rolled his eyes, placing the phone back on its hook and heading up to his room to get dressed. Sonia could be heard grumbling at him in frustration from her spot on the sofa, but Eddie paid little attention to the steady stream of guilt spewing forth from her lips. It had become a sort of white noise after the past few years, ever since the clown and the plaster cast and the placebos. He’d stopped listening all together after the speech she’d given him when he’d come out to her earlier that summer, and now it seemed only a matter of time before he would be off to college with Richie, and would finally cut the cord once and for all. And she would just have to get over that.

“Going out, mom. Don’t bother with the door; I don’t know when I’ll be back,” Eddie called lamely over her droning. He slipped his coat on over his cranberry red sweater and stuffed his hands into his gloves, mulling over whether or not to wear a hat. Glancing to the snow outside the kitchen window, he decided he’d better play it safe and keep his head warm.

“Are you wearing enough layers, Eddie-bear? Don’t forget a scarf, your throat! You’ll catch your death, your breathing you know it’s so cold out, you’re so delicate--”

“Goodbye, mom,” Eddie shouted more loudly his time, grabbing a scarf and slamming the door behind him. The late December snowfall crunched loudly beneath his boots as he made his way down the street toward the Tozier’s house.

* * *

 

The driveway and garage at Richie’s house were buried in snow, completely un-kept and neglected. Eddie would wonder if anyone lived here at all if it wasn’t for the knee deep trail of footprints through the front yard and the giant, lopsided snowman smoking a cigarette in the far corner by the kitchen window. Eddie snorted at the sight before stepping gingerly toward the door, trying to use Richie’s footprints to his advantage despite the feet being too big and the strides too long for him to fill. His legs were covered in melting powder by the time he reached the door, rapping quickly on the smudged wood and tapping his foot softly as he waited for Richie to answer.

When Richie finally opened the door, he was preceded by a cloud of oily smoke and the scent of mashed potatoes. Eddie backed away from the door in surprise, nearly slipping on the patch of icy slush that dominated the top step of the Tozier’s front porch.

“Richie what the fu--”

“Oh good you came!” Richie exclaimed, beaming. “I was starting to think you weren’t gonna show, Eds. C’mon in, c’mon in!” He reached out and tugged Eddie by the hand into the warmly lit foyer, giving Eddie a chance to really take in his boyfriend’s appearance. As usual, Richie looked gaudy and ridiculous. He had an apron tied around his waist, jolly and red and emblazoned with block letters that encouraged you to “Kiss ♡ My Ass” in a mockery of the classic “Kiss the Cook” aprons Eddie often saw on tv. A stupid and cheeky joke, though, he supposed it matched well with Richie’s sweater; some god-awful green, cable knit monstrosity with the words “Santa’s Little F*cker” lovingly stitched across the front. A jester collar design was sewn around his throat, complete with real brass bells that jangled cheerfully whenever he took a step. Along with acid washed jeans, the outfit was very Richie, he supposed, and only Richie could ever pull something quite so brazen off.

“C’mon inside, Eddie mah deah, don’t bother with your shoes my man, gimme your coat, all that good stuff, lord fuck did your mom make you that hat because it really  _is_  something--”

“Beep beep, Richie.”

“Alright alright, I’ll stop,” Richie quickly surrendered, laughing. “But come into the kitchen okay? I’ve got a surprise for you!” With that he dropped Eddie’s shoulders and hurried down the hall toward the kitchen, leaving Eddie to finish removing his coat and gloves. A quick glance at the floor; littered with dirt and liquid stains sticky with dust, he decided to take Richie’s advice and keep his shoes on his feet. The house definitely looked cleaner than it usually had whenever he had visited, but it tended to be such a sty he knew Richie could have only done so much to prepare for his arrival.

“Where are your parents?” Eddie called as he hung his coat in the closet, as far away from Wentworth and Maggie’s cologne and cigarette scent-heavy jackets.

“Vacationing in Bora Bora; on sabbatical in Darkest Africa, bringing the holy gospel of Tupperware to the far off settlements of the great arctic circle… Hell if I know, Eds.” Richie’s face appeared in the doorway for a moment as he rolled his dark eyes and shoved his frames further up the bridge of his nose. “For all I know they’re golfing in Hawaii right now with more of their rich bitch friends.”  _Dad’s hanging out with his other dentist buddies and mom’s probably nose deep in her fifth mimosa and tittering with the other dentist wives, and they’re having a grand old time pretending they don’t have a loudmouth teenage son alone at home._  He didn’t say these things, of course. Instead he busied himself with his lighter, bringing life to the two white emergency candles he’d managed to locate in the kitchen drawer and adding the finishing touches to his table setting.

“Alright Eddie, get your cute little ass over here!” he called, waiting until he saw Eddie’s slight sweatered body in the doorway before throwing his arm out in a flourish and gesturing to the table. “Ta-da!”

Eddie’s jaw dropped at the sight of the table, overflowing with Christmas food and festive tat. There were mashed potatoes, brussel sprouts, gravy, veggies and stuffing. Two glasses of egg-nog stood next to a bottle of wine, and in the centre of it all sat a small turkey; only somewhat over-done by the look of it. A pair of bright orange bar stools; part of a prized purchase Maggie Tozier had made back in ‘76, stood under the table waiting to be used. A green and red tartan tablecloth completed the festive albeit ramshackle display. Eddie was so enchanted he hardly noticed the sprig of mistletoe Richie had hung to the ceiling fan at the centre of the table.

“Richie, how? How the hell?”

“It’s called grocery money, Eds,” Richie laughed. “Alternatively referred to as “lucking out and finding there’s still a balance on the credit card your mom foolishly left in her sock drawer”.”

“But the cooking… you made all of this yourself?”

“I didn’t cash in a favour with Stan, if that’s what you’re asking. My mom’s got a whole hoard of cookbooks she’s never touched gathering grease in the cupboard above the stove. And seeing as I know how to read--”

“Richie, it’s fantastic!” Eddie exclaimed in awe, and this time Richie made no effort to interrupt him. “It all looks amazing I - I can’t believe this.”

“Well, we need a good first Christmas,” Richie said softly. Eddie looked at him in surprise and smiled, taking his hand. It was a rare thing for Richie to get so quiet and sentimental. He leaned in and offered Richie a shy kiss on the cheek, blushing as he pulled back once more.

“I love it,” he said, beaming. “Come on, let’s eat it. I’d hate for it to get cold and all your hard work go to waste!” Richie nodded, letting Eddie lead him to the table and filling his plate. Eddie was right, everything  _was_ amazing.

* * *

 

It was after midnight by the time Richie found himself walking Eddie back home, sipping hot chocolate and holding hands. The snow had started again hours before, and had now slowed to a magical, slow motion drift that caught itself in the fibres of Eddie’s scarf and flecked Richie’s glasses. They walked in silence, listening to the calm of Derry at night and relishing in each others warmth. The walk was far too short. When they reached Eddie’s house, he was surprised to see the lights had been switched off; not even the porch light had been left on for him to find his way home. Something about that made Eddie feel more pride than fear. Perhaps his mother was finally starting to get it…

“Thank you for dinner, Rich,” he said happily, stopping under the streetlamp across from his house and looking up at Richie with a smile. His cheeks were flushed pink from the cold; snowflakes shimmered in his eyelashes like stardust. Richie was struck silent at the sight of him, so small and perfect; so much so that it felt like he was waking up from a dream when Eddie shyly reached up and pulled him down by his scarf, placing a kiss to Richie’s lips. It was brief and nervous and everything Richie could have ever wanted.

“Merry Christmas, love,” Eddie whispered softly against him, lowering himself back onto his heels and giving Richie’s hand a squeeze. Richie felt his heart swell with a warmth that reached all the way down to his toes.

“Merry Christmas, Eddie,” he whispered back, ruffling his boyfriend’s hair gently. They stood there together for a good ten minutes, basking in one anothers closeness. And when Richie started on his way back home, he carried with him a warmth that refused to leave.

 

-Fin-


End file.
